


No Ordinary Man

by Kawaiicoyote



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Afterlife, Angels, Archangels, M/M, Pre-Slash, Winged Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-07
Updated: 2012-09-07
Packaged: 2017-11-13 18:29:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/506427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kawaiicoyote/pseuds/Kawaiicoyote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s no angelic chorus welcoming him to pearly white gates and fluffy white clouds in the sky. But really, he knew that would never be for him in the end anyway didn’t he.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Ordinary Man

**Author's Note:**

> Finally had a spark of inspiration to write. Was written for someone pretty darn amazing, I just hope I did the pairing justice for her, though I do admit it's not the best.  
> Sorry in advance that my writing is a bit rusty.

When Dean closes his eyes there is no bright light at the end of the tunnel. There’s no angelic chorus welcoming him to pearly white gates and fluffy white clouds in the sky. But really, he knew that would never be for him in the end anyway didn’t he.

When he opens his eyes next he expects to see nothing and he would be half right. Dean sits up with a groan, blinking into focus still a little disoriented.

The room _is_ white but it’s more than a room. It’s more of a nothingness that stretches out on all sides as far as his eye can see. But for all he knows it could be an illusion and if he tries to find an end he might walk face first into a wall.

He’s debating finding if it ends when something in the plain nothingness catches his eye. He stands shakily, gaze focused and he can’t believe what he’s seeing.

His mother’s old worn piano. Dean remembers, or an old memory tries to surface, of his mom on Christmas her golden hair crating a halo on her head from the lamp that was always atop the piano as she tried to play Christmas carols or old churn hymns. He remembers his dad laughing but smiling at her attempts and kissing the top of her head. Even offered to pay for her to get lessons that the both of them knew they couldn’t afford.

Dean finds himself in front of the thing. He leans forward a bit and he smiles that crooked smile of his, it even smells like the almond wood cleaner she would douse the poor thing in. His hand reaches forward, hoovers uncertainly for a moment and then presses down on one of the time stained keys and he chuckles at the twang of it. It’s the same key that went out of tune and they never bothered to get fixed. His mother would say it made things sound unique instead of wrong.

The soft flutter of wings alerts him that he’s not alone anymore. But he knows without even looking that it’s Cas. So he doesn’t bother to wipe away at the tears that have gathered on his lashes or do the manly thing and say dust is in his eyes. Instead he turns to look at the blue eyed angel and sighs.

“Why,” he asks his hand waving at the piano beside him.  Castiel takes his time answering, his default stony expression unwavering. Not letting him know good or bad either way.

“It was only right to bring some kind of peace to you, Dean.” Castiel says, gravel voice still not letting him know anything. But it still has Dean feeling as if he’d been blown a punch to the gut. Well, technically he’d been dealt an archangel’s knife to the gut, same difference.

Bringing peace to someone was not good, or to Dean it wasn’t. Especially since he was standing in literally the middle of nowhere with an Angel of the Lord.

“I’m not comin’ back this time.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement.  This has Castiel shifting on his feet, his trench coat swaying with the movement. For some reason that pulls Dean out of his thoughts just long enough to wonder how much the angel spends on dry cleaning.

The angel shakes his head and purses his lips in thought, “No, Not as you would expect.”

Dean quirks an eyebrow at him, thoroughly confused. The feeling intensifying tenfold as Cas steps forward and closes the gap between them and his hand reaches forward. It lies on his arm perfectly over the scar there. He can feel heat from the angel’s grace radiating even through the thick material of his jacket and shirt, it’s almost overwhelming.

“I pulled you from the depths of hell, Dean Winchester,” Castiel starts and Dean doesn’t try to make sense of anything, he just lets him talk. “From the very beginning it was known that you were special, that you had a higher purpose. You still have a higher purpose Dean Winchester, and I will show it to you.”

Dean doesn’t even try to speak; his gaze holds Castiel’s deep blue gaze and he can only hope the angel knows how much he’s freaking out in his head.

“Fear not, for I am with you,” Cas says quietly. Dean wants to open is mouth to say something, but then the angel squeezes his arm and it takes everything in him to keep standing.

Pain, pain is everywhere and his mouth opens in a silent scream. His skin feels like it’s literally on fire from where Castiel’s Grace bleeds out from the center of his palm. He starts to shake from the overwhelming pain, wants to jerk away when the fabric of his shirt and jacket starts to vaporize in a golden mist off of his body until there’s nothing left.

His whole being quakes from the pain that centers in his back. The feeling of fire and knives radiating outwards like it’s trying to claw his back open.

Just when he thinks he can take no more, it’s over. He finds himself on his hands and knees, sucking in deep ragged breathes. His skin is coated with a sheen of sweat, his breathing is hard and harsh.

“The hell Cas!” Dean barks out at the angel but doesn’t dare try to stand, as much as he would love to deck the other man.

“Rise and behold your purpose.”

The command throws Dean off. He looks up at Cas in confusion but, shakily, does as told. His body feels heavy, like he just came out of a swimming pool after a few hours, and feels too hot. He’s just about to ask again what his deal is when he feels something brush against his back.

The feeling is all too familiar. It’s a feeling that he associates with Cas but only on certain occasions. Certain occasions that involves the wild throws of passion after a hard difficult battle. Battles were they thought they wouldn’t survive.

“Cas…” Dean trails off; not even knowing what to say as he looks back and a pair of golden and tan wings are just _there_. They’re on his back, looking so pristine and well, angelic.

“You are special, Dean.” Dean can’t stop looking at his back. He flexes his back and shoulders just right and the wings fan out at their full length, standing proudly. They remind him of hawks’ wings. Dean is stunned and gapes at the angel before him.

Castiel isn’t smiling his eyes bright and if anything they alone look like they’re smiling.

He is an angel now. Castiel had said he was special and had a purpose. He never knew what he was talking about. But now he knows.

In the back of his mind he can hear his mother voice loud and clear.

_Angels are watching over you._

 

 

 


End file.
